


A Dance at Dawn

by Kisskossfloss



Series: Musings of A Broken Heart [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, Some angst, Wedding, morning sexx
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 22:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisskossfloss/pseuds/Kisskossfloss
Summary: A brief poetic take on the last time before Phil's wedding.





	A Dance at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the story with this story: I had a sexy dream about Phil and it was delicious and beautiful and I wanted to write it down to keep it and so I wrote this little story that ended up being sort of poem-esque. If readers would like this elaborated on, maybe made into a full story with some stuff on before and after, I would be down, but for today, I just wanted to get this scene out of my sleeping mind before it fades away as dreams do! I hope you enjoy!

In the middle of a bright, white room, a tall, thin man lay in bed. His face, smooth and lax, is as bright white as the walls. His hair, a stark black against the porcelain skin of his forehead, is ruffled along the pillow. The early dawn hangs in the air, harmonizing quietly with the deep breathing of a restful slumber. 

The door to the room opens gently, a small “creak” slips out as large, pattering feet tip-toe over to the bed. The sheets are raised by a long, sinewy arm as another body, equally lean, equally delicate, slips into the bed. 

A kiss is pressed along the jaw peppered with short course hair that only exists on this face at dawn. Fair eyelashes flutter open, "mmm?" he says as if it is a question, but he always knows the answer. 

Bright eyes, under heavy lids lock. A sweet kiss from sleep swollen lips to sleep swollen lips. 

Melodic kisses pressing. 

Heavy, soft tongues touching. 

A swell of peace, pleasure, clarity under each breast bone. 

_He’s hard now, my porcelain doll, my innocent wisp, he’s ready for me._

And now one on top of the other, hovering over, sinking deep. 

_He’s full of me_

Sweetly slow movement, back and forth, and up and down. The room holds its breath. The dawn hangs still, but now it sings with heavy pants- stilted by those who are forgetting to breath, too engrossed in movement and nerve endings. 

Long white fingers press against thighs, massaging hips, caressing the waist. 

A head thrown back, eyes partially closed, rolling. Curly hair dampening and sticking to the forehead. A pressure outside of each man’s ears, a buzzing of this space and this time and this act squeezes against their joined bodies. 

And then, a knock, 

A loud, piercing knock at the door. 

“Phil! Are you asleep?” It’s his mother. Dan scrambles off, almost falling, and stumbles into the closet, with not even enough time to fully close the door before the other is opened. A woman enters, she carries breakfast on a tray. She smiles brightly towards Phil who, by now, is covered to his chin in blankets and pillows. 

If she notices he’s disheveled she chalks it up to stressful dreams before a stressful day. 

“I brought you breakfast, you need to make sure you eat, otherwise you might get sick all over your bride and what a sight that would be!” she exclaims, but her voice is sweet and comforting. 

“Thank you, Mum” he tells her, sitting up slightly to receive the tray. He doesn’t look at the closet directly, but he feels the heartbeat radiating from it. 

“I’ll leave you to it, but make sure you are all ready for 9, we have to be at the church for 10.” And with that she leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her. 

Phil looks towards the closet, waiting for his early morning guest to emerge, but it’s a beat longer than expected before Dan is sitting next to him in bed. 

They munch quietly on toast, sharing sips of coffee. They move together as if performing the notes of a well-worn sonata. Two hands of the same body rather than two bodies on the same bed. 

“Phil,” Dan begins, “is this going to happen today?”

“Yes.” Phil answers. 

The sun is brightly pressing into the room now, the sounds of a waking home fill the space. 

A small kiss on porcelain hands from loving lips. 

A small sigh from contact. 

The quieted patter of large feet tip-toeing away. 

The toll of church bells in the distance as bright, blue eyes lay on a crisp gray morning coat. 

“I love you,” whispered through the crack of a closing door. 

An “I love you” that hangs in the air and settles in the pocket of the tux worn at the wedding to another.


End file.
